


Never Would and Never Have

by TheAzureFox



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, and Sylvain has got to get fed up one of these days, horses are the key to confessing, i'm grinding for A-support for these two and I'M FRUSTRATED, ingrid has feelings but is in denial, plus slight angst that spoils their B-Support a little, so here's a shipping piece dedicated to them to vent my frustration at their stubborness, so uhhhh anyways as for more official tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 10:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAzureFox/pseuds/TheAzureFox
Summary: In which a conversation about how one's dating preference can be determined by the horse they ride leads to Ingrid having questions.(Sylvain x Ingrid)





	Never Would and Never Have

**Author's Note:**

> Me: awww Ingrid’s and Sylvain’s B-Support was really cute. I didn’t know if I actually wanted to ship them or not but now I want to. On to A-Support!
> 
> Me: *chooses Battle*
> 
> Me: *Sends out Sylvain and Ingrid and ONLY Sylvain and Ingrid to battle all enemies side by side*
> 
> Me: *checks the support menu after every battle to see if they reached A-Support with each other*
> 
> Me: *does this for 20+ battles in a row*
> 
> Me: …
> 
> Me: Why the fuck are they not leveling up in support????
> 
> Or, in other words, this fanfic is here to vent my frustration for the way I can clearly see red hearts popping up above these two and yet they don’t want to level up affection in battle :’)

* * *

White wings scrape across a blue sky, fluttering like that of a butterfly’s as hooves crash down upon empty air. A lone pegasus swoops and swirls, running along a current of wind as it flies up into a haven of clouds painted in shades of orange-pink.

Ingrid feels air brush her face as she dives through the cover of the cloud-stained sky. There’s such a feeling of exhilaration as she does so, something so freeing about riding on a pegasus through sky fog, that she almost misses the way a shadow trails after her. Her gaze watches that shadow, taking amusement in the way it runs underneath her as best it can, before she urges her horse to swoop downwards.

Her mount obeys, holding no protest as the stallion cuts downwards, wings beating to assure a safe landing as its hooves touch the ground. It trots forwards a little ways, losing its momentum, before it holds its head high and approaches the ones who make up their stalking shadow.

A black horse approaches them, its gaze almost wary as it trots to meet with Ingrid’s pegasus. Her own horse flares its wings as a welcoming greeting, prancing with pride, and noticeably sulks when the mare in front of it tilts its head and snorts.

“Hey,” the rider of the mare winks at Ingrid as she glances at him, “how’s it going?”

“Fine,” she replies stiffly – out of courtesy. “But tell me, Sylvain, why have you pursued me all the way out here? The rest of the class is far behind us. Surely the Professor had better plans for you in mind than to follow my tracks?”

Sylvain puts his hands behind his head. “Actually, that’s _exactly_ what Teach wanted.”

“Oh really now?” She raises an eyebrow, frowning, and he only shrugs.

“He said something about, uhhh, improving our bonds together?” Sylvain scratches the back of his neck. “That and we’re the only ones of the pride who can go pretty far on the – and I quote – ‘map’. You know how weird Teach can get sometimes. And, I think this is one of those moments.”

Ingrid thinks of the man in question, of Byleth Eisner, who is as much an enigma as he is a strange teacher. And, indeed, he was quite a curious case. He babbled quite frequently about “unlocking supports”, “hard mode”, and “shippings” – so much so that no one in their little group thought much of his words anymore. He was a good teacher he was just…eccentric, at times.

“I see,” she sighs, patting her pegasus side and watching him nuzzle his face against that of Sylvain’s mare. “Stop that.”

Her horse pulls away with a whine and Sylvain offers Ingrid a wide grin. “I think he likes her,” the boy says, looking at her rather cheekily.

“I think he’s just bothering her,” Ingrid makes her pegasus take a few steps forward and then reaches out a hand to pet Sylvain’s mare.

“You know,” Sylvain leans forward, his voice oozing with something teasing, “they say that the horse a person rides reflects their taste in a dating partner.”

She raises her eyebrows at him. “Who says that?”

“People.”

“The same sort of people who you try to woo or the same sort of people you piss off by wooing their sister?”

“Ouch, Ing,” Sylvain clutches a hand to his chest. “It’s none of the above, really.”

“_Sure_.” She gives a sigh, urging her pegasus onwards. It does so with a sulk, noticeably deflating as it is forced to walk ahead of Sylvain and his horse.

He follows after her, obliging his horse to follow. The creature huffs, trotting forward and tail swishing behind it. “You don’t believe me?” He gestures to his horse and then to hers. “Look at your horse! It’s positively flirting with mine whenever it gets the chance. Not only that, but, I’ve seen it flirt with all the mares it can get its wings on too!”

“What are you implying?” She asks him dryly.

“Well,” he gives her a nudge, wiggling from the action before stabilizing himself against the girl’s shoulder. His mare brushes flanks with Ingrid’s stallion, reciprocating the action of its owner as the two of them lean on Ingrid and her pegasus. “If the rumor is true, shouldn’t your taste in a dating partner be a philanderer like me?”

Ingrid scoffs. “And why would I care about dating someone like you?”

There’s something like hurt that flashes in his eyes and Ingrid frowns at its presence. She’s not known Sylvain to care about rejections from girls before. And, she should honestly be no exception. Ingrid’s seen his game before: seen the way he flirts with anything with a pulse (and even those without!) and makes an utter fool of himself.

She’s not interested, no thanks.

But, with Sylvain’s shoulder pressed against hers, warmth seeping against her left arm and his face dangerously close to hers (close enough to _punch_ if the need came), she finds herself reacting with a flinch. Sylvain has never been sincere about his flirtations with _her_ in the same way he’s never been serious about his flirtations with _anyone_. She’s long since known that and holds to it like an undying truth, knowing better than anyone that Sylvain is the definition of insincere.

Still, there’s a part of her that lingers over memories felt strongly. A part that thinks of days where she’s locked herself in her room, face crusted in dried up tears and her back to the door. There’s a part of her that remembers Sylvain’s coaxing voice, of his shadow peeking from beneath the door as he sat on the opposite side of it, telling her much of the world that was passing her by.

There’s a part of her that also remembers the way her heart constricted not too long ago when Sylvain had beat his fists upon concrete walls. There’s a part of her that remembers the ends of his hand coated in blood, the way unspoken tears were held hostage in his eyes as he vented his frustration in any way he could. There was a part of her that had approached him, that had taken his bleeding hand and had shook her head at him and offered up her arms. She remembers how he had clung to her the night his brother died, how he’d nestled against her, all flirtations dead atop his tongue, and wept with bitter sorrow against the crook of her neck.

Sylvain rests his head atop her shoulder and, broken out of her reverie, she glances down at him and scowls.

“What are you doing?”

“Bonding,” he says, “just like Teach wanted.”

His mare gives a snort. Ingrid reciprocates it.

“I don’t think Professor meant invading my private space.”

He gives a cheeky grin. It's the kind of grin that tells Ingrid he's well aware her words are more of irritation than they are serious intent. “But," he says, "you’re not pushing me away. So, I assume I’m not invading _anything_.”

Red locks tickle at her cheeks. She wonder how Sylvain can manage to keep his head on her shoulder, especially with the way both of their horses keep bumping him out of position.

“Well, newsflash. You’re invading it right now.”

Sylvain draws away with a sigh, holding his hands up. “Alright, Ing, you drive a hard bargain. If it inconveniences so, I must be a gentleman and obey your whims.”

She rolls her eyes. “What part of you is a gentleman?”

“Why, every part of me!” He sweeps a hand against his chest and performs a mock bow.

Ingrid snorts. “Uh-huh.”

Sylvain pouts and their conversation plunges into silence. Ingrid watches as her stallion nuzzles against Sylvain’s mare, trying to coax its attention with friendly bites only to be rejected by it. It gives Ingrid a semblance of an idea: one she can’t help but try out.

“Sylvain,” she says, watching as the boy perks to attention, “if what you say is true about horses-“ she doesn’t missing the shine in his eyes or the giddy smile he starts to sport “-then wouldn’t your own preference in dating partners be for someone who endlessly rejects your advances?”

Ingrid expects him to fluster, to flush red in embarrassment and to hastily take back his own statement, when instead he blinks at her. It’s a calm look, one that’s almost mature in intent, and she can’t help but notice that he’s traded his teasing philanderer self for something seriously inclined.

“So what if that is my preference?” There’s a lilt of bitterness to his voice. Ingrid almost thinks it uncharacteristic for him, restraining her surprise with another frown. “They wouldn’t realize my sincerity for them even if I confessed outright. Never would.” He pauses. “And never have.”

He kicks the side of his mare and hurries off. Ingrid watches him go and, finding herself somehow irritated by his change in behavior, she sends her pegasus after him. White wings unfurl, catching a blast of wind and using it to lift off.

It doesn’t take her long to catch up to Sylvain and, when she does, she notices that he is pointedly looking away from her.

“What do you mean?” She asks him.

“What do you think I mean?”

His ear-tips are tinged with searing red. It’s the color of his hair. It’s the color he dons when he allows his carefree persona to slip loose and reveal his true feelings.

“You’re mad at me.”

“Good guess.”

“Okay. Why then?”

“Take another guess,” he spits.

She sighs. “I don’t have time for childish games.”

All of a sudden, his mare comes skidding to a stop, rearing up unexpectedly as a tree comes into view. Sylvain is thrown from his saddle, flung from his mount, and Ingrid reacts immediately. She abandons her own stallion, slipping off its saddle and launching herself to the ground.

Ingrid runs to Sylvain’s side, an arm snaking around his back and lifting him up as she inspects him with a patter of worry in her heart. Dust coats his cheeks and a particularly nasty gash eats at his left knee. Red oozes from the fresh wound and Ingrid tries not to balk at such a sight.

She whistles and her pegasus comes crashing down beside her. Sylvain’s mare comes following, nudging her master’s head with a whinny. Sylvain reaches up to her, wincing, and then looks at Ingrid with a nervous smile. “I’m fine, Ing.”

“You are _not_,” she gestures to the heavily bleeding gash on his knee and watches him flush in embarrassment. She scowls. “Can you stand?”

“With your help, maybe.”

She nods, pulling herself to her feet and hoisting Sylvain up with her. He wobbles, the leg with the gash trembling, before it buckles and he’s left pressing all of his weight on her. She stands strong, slowly working him towards her waiting pegasus.

“You idiot!” She gives a furious whisper when Sylvain stumbles, nearly gouging his bleeding knee on a nearby rock. “Watch where you’re walking!”

His ears turn a pinkish hue of red. “I _was_.”

“No, you clearly were not.” She stops at her pegasus and gestures at him. “Get on.”

“Ing, I don’t know if I can manage that.”

She looks over him, nodding. “I’ll help.”

She guides him onto the saddle, hands placed on either side of his waist. He obeys without fuss, carefully making his way up and only making noise when he has to hiss with pain. Ingrid works to avoid hearing such a noise, stabilizing him in her saddle and clambering up behind him. He passes her her pegasus’s reins and then whistles to his horse. The mare nods, aware of the situation, and as Ingrid’s pegasus takes off it follows behind on the ground.

“Smart girl,” Sylvain coos, though whether it’s at his horse or at Ingrid she isn’t quite sure.

“I’m going to get you to a healer.”

“That would be appreciated. Thanks.”

His words are curt: short and to the point. It unnerves her a little bit. By now she would’ve thought she’d doused in his flattery, flirtatious remarks peppered everywhere at the closeness of her situation. Instead, Sylvain seems to almost…sulk?...as she holds her arms on either side his waist. His ears are tinged in that curious shade of pink-red too, not quite burning in anger but not quite burning in any kind of emotion Ingrid knows, either.

Having watched him for as long as she’s had, she can usually pick up on most of his nonverbal cues. A lopsided smile betrays his intent to flirt without remorse. A tilt of the head and a grin on his face betrays his need to make mischief. Ears scorched by red relay that he’s in a foul mood. But ears turned pink…_that_ was a new kind of cue that Ingrid had not a clue about.

So, as she swoops through the sky, arms at either side of Sylvain and his foreboding silence puzzling her ceaselessly, she fails to notice the way he stiffens whenever his back presses against her or her hands brush his own. If only she would pay more attention than maybe she would realize…

(But, ah, Ingrid is as blind as she is sharp. And, for all her knowledge on Sylvain, perhaps she doesn’t know him as well as he suspects. For, if she would only look closer, she would see the boy’s face burning a brilliant crimson.)

* * *

Behind the Scenes:

“Professor…” Dimitri looks at Byleth with furrowed eyebrows. “Why are we all just…sitting here? Shouldn’t we be going out there too?”

“Nope.”

“Nope?” He frowns at him. As does everyone else in the Blue Lions and present on the battlefield. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not interested in supporting any of you.”

“S-Supporting? N-Not interested?”

“Don’t misunderstand. I don’t really care for you guys any more. You’ve got your supports maxed out. It’s just these two I want to grab.”

“Professor,” Felix pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re not making any sense again.”

“Cool beans.”

“Look!” Mercedes points in the distance as two figures stride towards them, placed atop a single pegasus as a horse draped in armor follows underneath.

“Is that Ingrid and Sylvain?” Ashe squints into the distance. “And are they...riding together?”

Byleth smiles like a maniac as he opens a menu only he can see and grins. “Got ‘em.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Byleth is implied to be an isekai character. I thought it was amusing so I shoved the idea in here lol
> 
> Regardless, I love Sylvain/Ingrid and it's probably one of the few ships I have that's an OTP that doesn't pair any one character with a House Leader. I literally fell in love with this ship when I saw the cutscene where Ingrid smacks away Sylvain and their B-Support literally sealed the deal for me. I'm surprisingly weak for philanderer x fussing character ships and I'm even weaker for these two because they have _depth_ to their relationship. So, naturally, I've been shipping them but have never posted a fanfic for them (not including my other piece). So, here I am now with one :>
> 
> Also, as a side note, Sylvain calls Ingrid "Ing" (pronounced "En-guh" despite looking like it's saying "-ing") because I literally couldn't think of a better nickname and tbh I can't recall if he ever gave her one in his supports but _he should_ because he seems like the type to do it.


End file.
